Synopsis

Someone is trying to kill Marc Foster.

Attempted poisoning was bad enough, but when the would-be killer messes with the brakes on Marc’s precious Porsche, the art dealer admits he needs help. He just wasn’t expecting help to be quite so dark and sexy.

Royce Karras loves his job at Ward Security. He’s making up for a lifetime of bad decisions and a bloody past he’d rather forget. But Marc isn’t the spoiled rich boy he thought he’d be protecting. Sticking close to Marc as his “boyfriend” gives Royce insight into his toxic family, but it also reveals a brilliant, compassionate man who completely disarms Royce. Against his better judgment, Royce finds himself falling.

But can they find a way to make it work when Royce’s past threatens to tear their lives apart? Their future hinges on a lost Renaissance painting, six Bichon Frises, and a pornographic Robin Hood.

No worries, right?

Excerpt

Marc Foster rose from one of the outdoor couches and came toward him with his right hand out. There was no missing how he shifted his left hand slightly behind his body, but Royce already caught sight of what looked like a bandage. He stood taller than Royce by several inches, his shoulders broad, his body slim. He wore a fashionable suit that probably cost more than a month of Royce’s salary.

But his damn face—that was going to be a problem.

He had the most fascinating combination of features Royce had ever seen. Sharp was the first description that came to mind. He had thick, black, slanting eyebrows over piercing, blue eyes, bladed cheekbones and chin—all of it coming together to form a stunning, intense face that was completely belied by the softest-looking, fullest lips he’d ever seen. The dichotomy of severe and overly sensual startled, sending a punch of surprising lust into Royce’s gut. Marc wore his dark brown hair long on top, and it looked like he’d been running his hands through it, because it curled back off his face in soft waves with one strand falling over his eye.

It was the perfect length for gripping.

“Royce Karras?”

“Yes.” He wanted to say more, but he felt momentarily tongue-tied and shocked. Rich playboys were far from the kind of men he usually liked to get rowdy with, so his gut reaction to this one made him feel off. He’d never been much of a talker, though. He hoped the man didn’t want a chatterbox for a pretend boyfriend.

The smile that stretched those full lips revealed teeth that went along with the program: sharp and flawlessly white. But the smile softened his features, making him seem more welcoming.

And…somewhat devastating. Royce would have no trouble pretending to be attracted to this man.

Marc nodded then, his gaze running down Royce’s body.

Royce wondered what he thought as he took in his black vest over the white button-down shirt tucked into dark jeans. Black motorcycle boots completed the look. He’d also rolled up his sleeves, leaving the tattoos on his left arm in plain sight. He’d trimmed his black beard close to his chin. Normally, he wore the company’s polo or T-shirts on jobs, but Andrei had asked him to “hot it up” a little so he’d appeal to a rich playboy.

He watched that rich playboy now as he eyed him, then turned back to Quinn. Royce followed his gaze to find his coworker standing silently, watching them with a funny smile on his face.

That particular word choice sent a blast of heat to Royce’s groin, and he ruthlessly ignored it. But the image that had surged into his mind had been this gorgeous, haughty man kneeling before him, and that was harder to push aside. He’d look so pretty like that, his head back, mouth open, waiting on instruction.

Royce knew, without a doubt, that he could have this man on his knees, that he could easily overpower him despite his taller form. If there was one thing that always played out in Royce’s favor, it was the steely strength he carried in his compact body. It had been the reason he’d been a very successful shylock for a bloodthirsty bookie in Virginia. He came with the element of surprise—always underestimated, always triumphant in a fight. He didn’t have the special martial arts training of a lot of his coworkers, but that didn’t matter. There was something to be said for sheer determination.

“You aren’t going to question if he’s big enough to fight someone off for you?” Quinn asked. “He gets that a lot.”

Marc smirked and brought those astute blue eyes back to him. “I have absolutely no doubt this man can protect me. Anyone paying close enough attention would see that he could easily take them down.”

Royce hoped the lust coating his last three words was only in his own imagination. A quick glance at Quinn told him it was not. And the IT guy was finding this situation highly amusing as he lifted one eyebrow behind his black-framed glasses.

Addison’s Publications

Sweet Fantasy

The Story Continues…

Tour Host for…

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